Blood Drops A Collection of Hellsing Vignettes
by Crystalwren
Summary: A gathering of Hellsing vignettes, all written at different times and to different challenges. Contains het, slash, femslash and varying degrees of trauma.
1. Walter

_Theme: Child_

At age three they gave him electric shocks, age four, a weighted club that he used on animals, beat the beasts bloody while scientists smiled and wrote glowing test reports. Five saw the gift of garrotte wire that he turned into a whip. Six years old was his first ring and at age seven, two more. That year, one of those smiling scientists lured Walter into an empty room and told him to take off his clothes. They found him fairly quickly; finding the woman was more difficult. He'd hidden some of the pieces.

He always was a precocious child.

_Theme: Judas_

He'd been taught to kill since the time he could walk, an efficient and cruel experiment aimed at creating superior soldiers. The scientists fed him a diet of religion and national fanaticism; he could recite the Bible when most children were still learning how to read but he had never been embraced in care or in kindness. His grasp of human emotions was purely intellectual until the day a scientist came to say goodbye. The man picked him up, pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead and in that moment, that hateful Judas kiss, Walter understood both love and betrayal.

_Theme: Hound_

He was surprised at how easy it was.

He simply reached out and shook hands with the fat man; an accord made, an agreement reached. Walter betrayed his God, his Queen, his country and his Hellsing. Arthur's devoted butler no more. Why did he do it? He wasn't certain. For thrills, perhaps, or a youthful desire to rebel. The Angel of Death's equivalent to painting the bedroom walls black.

One thing for certain: if Walter betrayed once, he could do it again. If the fat major thought that he had control, he was wrong. Walter was no one's faithful hound.

Innocence

"I want something extra this time," says Walter during his yearly meeting with the major. "I want a woman."

"What for?" asks the major, "Besides the obvious, of course. An angry young man like yourself would surely want something a little more than a mainstream prostitute. Do you like to beat your women? Cut them? Kill them, even?"

"No! No, nothing like that. It's just that Arthur has already slept with every damn whore in Britain. I don't want to be where he's been. That's all."

The major looks amused. Walter returns the look, man-to-man, inwardly cursing his blushing innocence.

Hunter; Predator

"This is Rip van Winkle," said the major. "We call her the Huntress."

Walter looks at Rip and Rip looks back. She's tall and just this side of starveling. She holds her musket like it's her lover and stares like she's wondering what he tastes like. Walter blinks stupidly, suddenly indescribably nervous. "How do you do?" he stutters nervously. The corner of her mouth twitches.

"I do very well," she says mildly, and flicks a long strand of hair over her shoulder. Walter turns to the major.

"She's fine," he says, knowing full well that they're both laughing at him.

Corpse

She is death-pale, almost skeletal. Her breasts are non-existent. All things considered, she is not attractive. Her long, elegantly curled hair is her only beauty.

Walter regards his arousal. She's almost child-like in her underdevelopment but that's not what turns him on. A vampire certainly, an animated corpse and necrophilia has never appealed. He has always been fascinated by the processes of killing things. Once it's dead he tends to lose interest.

In the end, he supposes that it's because she's dangerous. He looks at her shark teeth, wonders about vagina dentata and waits for her to take his virginity.

Cross

She says, "Why do you wear this?" and points at the sliver cross he wears on a leather thong around his neck. "Do you really believe in it?"

Walter opens his mouth to answer, and then stops, frowning. He thinks hard. Finally he says, "I do. If there are unholy creatures, then it stands that there must be holy beings."

Rip strokes the metal with her fingertip and sucks at the resulting blister. "Do you believe in God?"

"I believe in God. I just don't think that He believes in me."

"Whose side are you on?" He smiles, doesn't answer.

Power

She holds him down as easily as pinning a newborn kitten. His hands are behind his back, his own weight rendering his rings useless as she licks his chest like a child with an ice cream. He curses softly but fluently. Stupid to let his adolescent hormones get him into this situation, stupid to walk straight into the lion's den, the vampire's mouth. She has him pinned. All she has to do is bite. The Angel of Death helpless against a single vampire, and not a very powerful one at that. Pathetic. That was the only word for it. Pathetic.

First encounter

"Don't be frightened."

"I'm not."

"Does this hurt?"

"No."

"Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"I've killed things more powerful."

"True. Have you ever been this helpless, though?"

"No."

"Here, I'll just…"

"Oh! It's cold!"

"What did you expect?"

"Something warmer."

"I'm dead."

"Correction: you're undead. Small but significant difference."

"Indeed. However, I may be quick but I'm not warm. I could be, if you give me a little something."

"Arthur says that women always want something in return. 'Blood sucking parasites' is what he told me once."

"Very true. Now, shall I bite you or just cut it off?"

Blood

"Blood is the coin and currency of the soul, the daguerreotype of will," says Rip as she sucks the seeping wound on his finger. She wraps her bony self tighter around him, the blood- his blood- warming her chilly flesh all out of proportion to the amount that she's actually drunk. Walter absently theorises that it is some sort of chemical reaction, but he's finding it hard to concentrate. "'The blood is the life.' Isn't that how the story went? 'The blood is the life.' I cannot make my own. Without blood there is no life. Therefore, I am dead."

* * *

_NOTES: Written for the now defunct LJ community, 100drops. A list of themes and the challenge was a perfect 100 word vignette for each._

_I didn't get very far.  
_


	2. Integra and Alucard

"How did you break the seal?"

"Does it matter, Integra? Does it really matter? I'm free. It doesn't matter how."

"I beg to differ. One must know one's mistakes in order to learn from them."

"Indeed, this is true, but you will never find another such as I. Therefore by definition, you cannot make the same mistake."

"Again, I beg to differ. Not many vampires would be of your calibre, Alucard, but there are some individuals that would lend themselves to the same sort of processes that created you. Carmilla, for instance."

"Oh please. Please don't compare me to that hackneyed little lesbian."

"Lestat?"

"A flaming, effeminate queer almost paralysed by self-hatred? I'd credited you for better taste than that. I'm sorry, are those ropes troubling you? Shall I loosen them for you?"

"I don't suppose you could take them off entirely?"

"No."

"Well, I suppose it was worth a shot. Thank you."

"You're welcome. It worries me to see such delicate skin abraded so."

"Not to mention that it's a potential waste of blood?"

"Precisely."

"To return to our conversation, how about Varney?"

"He's heterosexual, but he's even more hopeless than Lestat. Not to mention an utter lack of class. And intelligence. And self-preservation."

"Why Alucard, I never thought you'd be one for homophobia."

"I can't help it. I was raised Catholic."

"Well, there is that. I don't suppose I could have something to drink?"

"Certainly. Here. Straight from the source."

"Ah...on second thoughts, I'm not that thirsty."

"Suit yourself. Waste not, want not."

"That's disgusting. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to masturbate in public?"

"I murdered my mother."

"Good heavens, why?"

"I'm not sure. I had reasons at the time. In retrospect, they weren't that good."

"Please let me go, Alucard."

"No, Integra, I will not."


	3. Seras and Integra

Seras undresses. Integra watches.

The vampire pulls on the middle finger of her left glove. Sharp teeth close with infinite tenderness over the loose cloth and slowly, she tugs her hand free, white fingers flexing. Deliberately, she drops the glove on the immaculate carpet, a jarring note against the cream perfection. Her eyes met Integra's, as if daring the woman to say something. Integra only bites the corner of her mouth, leans forward in eagerness.

And Seras smiles.

The pink tip of her tongue appears between her lips. Deliberately she licks a fingernail, the merest, briefest swipe.

Integra mews, helplessly.

**

Seras is seated on a chair. Integra's eagerness makes the air heavy, but the vampire does not look at the master of her master, focuses her eyes on her boots instead. They're of study black leather, with steel buried in the toes.

With her forefinger, Seras stokes her way up her leather clad ankle, scrapes the stocking covered flesh where the leather ends. Back down again to the zip. She pulls iy down, the noise echoes like gunshot. She yanks the boot off with an extravagant gesture, places her hand on the inside of her thigh, smiles when Integra growls.

**

The zip opens slowly, each metal tooth parting company with the greatest of reluctance until finally, it hangs open, functionally redundant. White flesh naked for appraisal. Seras gasps as each vulnerable vertebra is stroked, outlined, invisible odes written on her skin.

Integra sighs. She places her warm, naked hand flat against the small of Seras' back, and they stay like that for a while, just breathing. Wetness of Integra's mouth against Seras' shoulder; rasp of blunt, useless human teeth.

Integra's breath stirs the fine hairs above Seras' ear. A tender kiss is pressed there. Integra whispers endearments, and Seras smiles.


	4. Walter II

**Theme: Queen**

"What do you think?" Alucard strutted in front of the mirror, tugging at the dress until it sat just right. Walter shook his head and lit another cigarette.

"Here's what I don't get, see. You keep insisting that you're female."

The vampire arched an eyebrow. "I am female. All of the correct organs are in place and are anatomically perfect, albeit non-functional."

"I don't care what your genitals look like," snapped Walter. "Your real form is male. You can pretend to be a little girl all you like. It's sophisticated cross dressing, nothing more."

"Don't be so stubborn."

"Goddamn transvestite."

**Theme: Tea**

"Walter, get some tea for our guests."

"Lord Landsdale, what a pleasant surprise. Walter, make some tea."

"We have tea, if you would like. Walter, if you please."

"Islands! Good to see you man! Let's have tea. Walter!"

"You Majesty, I am honoured beyond all words by your gracious visit. Might I offer you some tea?"

"I'm delighted to see you, so delighted that you came! Fetch some tea, would you Walter?"

"Blasted all-nighters. I need some caffeine. Walter, I need tea. Double strength."

"Walter, would you-"

"No. It's my day off. Arthur, you can get your own bloody tea."

**Theme: ****In the Moonlight**

She's just a little girl. Just a little girl, pale hair shining in the moonlight.

"What were you expecting?" Her voice is a woman's voice. "A monster?"

"Something like that," he says nervously, fumbling for his cigarettes.

"If I am a monster, what does that make you?"

"A man?" he suggests.

"Go shave before you tell me that."

He lights up. Wordlessly she holds out her hand and he gives her the cigarette, watches as she draws hard on it.

"You're so small."

"You know better than anyone just how deceiving appearances are."

"What's your name?"

"My name is Helena."

**Theme: Family**

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like. To have a father, a mother, a brother, a sister. To be normal. To belong. To have family.

Sometimes he slips out. He's not really allowed to leave the mansion by himself, not unless he's on a mission but Arthur, bless him, has never yet designed a security system that Walter can't break. He likes to go to parks and watch people, make up stories about them, wonder what it would be like, being part of their lives.

Arthur usually finds him pretty quickly. Arthur understands, and Walter hates him for it.

**Theme: Disease**

He can smell it before he even breaks down the door. Stink of rotting flesh, stink of cadavers in the summer heat.

The house was abandoned and reports had come in of monsters, of ghouls in the night. Walter was dispatched to clean it up. He's always cleaning up other people's messes.

The door yields. He crashes into the room and is immediately engulfed in clouds of flies. The corpses are of children, swimming with maggots.

He looks up, into the empty eyes of the man that murdered them. He sees a sickness, and realises that this monster is human.


	5. Integra

1.  
"Sir Irons," said Integra, "I really must protest about the latest rounds of cuts to Hellsing's funding."

"It can't be helped, Sir Integra. We must all make sacrifices during these tough times." He stared pointedly at the expensive cigar clamped firmly between her teeth. Sir Integra stared back with a look that said tough times or no, the cigars weren't negotiable. "Might I suggest that you try to improvise, come up with some new and novel ways to raise funding for yourselves?"

"We _have,_" began Integra, and was interrupted by Walter knocking on the door and walking in without so much as an 'excuse me'.

"Sir Knights," he said, looking unusually nervous, "we've had urgent contact from the American FBI. At their cadaver research facility, otherwise known as the Body Farm…" he trailed off, and coughed. "We've had a complaint against that shipment of experimental corpses the Hellsing Organisation sent them." He coughed again. "Apparently, during one of the experiments with a cadaver in sunlight, it got up in full view of several of the technicians, complained that the light was too bright, moved into the shade and lay back down again."

All eyes swung to Integra, who looked unrepentant. "What's the matter?" she said. "I thought you gentlemen were all for recycling."

2.

Stupid dinner party. Stupid old people. Stupid old people with stupid, chinless, amorous sons.

Integra scowled and did her best not to squirm in her chair. She was bored, god damn it. Just then, a smiling servant deposited a steaming bowl in front of her. Tomato. She hated tomato. She sighed and picked up her spoon and stirred it around a bit, hoping that the tomato had been improved by the addition of…anything, really. Her hopes rose as her spoon struck something soft in the bottom of the bowl. Potato? Pumpkin? Neither, actually. Eyeball. It floated in the tomato soup like it was floating in a basin of blood, like some eldritch witch's brew. It gave her a saucy wink and she sighed again.

"Waiter!" she had to raise her voice over the murmur of polite conversation. "Waiter, there's a vampire in my soup!"


End file.
